


A Slip of the Tongue

by DoctorTrekLock



Series: Resolution19 [11]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Dining at the Ritz, Happy Ending, M/M, Sneaky Angels, Way too much drinking if you're not immortal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-12 01:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18001559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorTrekLock/pseuds/DoctorTrekLock
Summary: The Arrangement was established in AD 1020. Even before that, Crowley and his angelic counterpart had been on vaguely friendly terms, but hadn't really had any need to contact each other with any regularity.Once the Arrangement was in place, the pair settled on meeting for drinks every century or so (to keep up with favors owed, and the like). This quickly evolved into meeting frequently for drinks and gossip, then for dinner and existential discussions, then walks through the park and the sort of mundane details that occupied the majority of any long-term relationship.





	A Slip of the Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Man Accidentally Ends Business Call With "I Love You"  
> Source: <http://doctortreklock.tumblr.com/post/136842125482/stripperdameron-star-wars-the-force-awakens>
> 
> Originally posted March 4, 2019 on [Tumblr](http://doctortreklock.tumblr.com/post/183225860662/a-slip-of-the-tongue-march-4-2019)

The Arrangement was established in AD 1020. Even before that, Crowley and his angelic counterpart had been on vaguely friendly terms, but hadn't really had any need to contact each other with any regularity.

Once the Arrangement was in place, the pair settled on meeting for drinks every century or so (to keep up with favors owed, and the like). This quickly evolved into meeting frequently for drinks and gossip, then for dinner and existential discussions, then walks through the park and the sort of mundane details that occupied the majority of any long-term relationship.

As their meeting frequency and purpose evolved, so too did their communication methods, both to arrange physical meetings and to pass on tidbits of gossip about new purchases (Aziraphale), new inventions (Crowley), and new acquaintances (both). They mailed letters back and forth, then sent telegrams, then started exchanging phone calls. Aziraphale hadn't quite worked up to texting or email yet (which suited Crowley fine, as he was mostly bluffing when he said he knew what "emoticons" were), but Crowley had eventually pressed a mobile on him for ease of frequent contact.

There were quirks to their communication. Aziraphale always signed his letters with whatever human pseudonym he was using at the time. Crowley's always held mention of something he would tell or bring the angel the next time he saw him. Aziraphale always abbreviated Crowley's name in written communication with a C ("It saves space, my dear!"). And Crowley...well Crowley had a silent addendum on every conversation since 1793.

It was a perfectly ordinary day in June, about six years after the Business They Didn't Talk About Out Of Fear Their Superiors Might Remember To Punish Them. Aziraphale had called to schedule tea at the Ritz (as if they didn't already have a regular schedule). Crowley had hemmed and hawed about his availability, but ultimately agreed to the suggested date (as they both knew he would). Crowley ended the phone call the same way he had every letter, telegraph, and phone call for the last two centuries: a snarky send-off and an _I love you, angel_. It was only after he hung up that he realized he'd actually said it out loud this time.

This cued ten minutes of hyperventilating while he stared at his mobile waiting for Aziraphale to realize what he'd said and call back, followed by forty-five minutes of failing to convince himself that Aziraphale hadn't even heard him and two hours of drinking himself into an eleven-hour coma. He checked his messages when he woke up; Aziraphale hadn't called. Crowley got drunk again.

Fourteen hours later, as he miracled away the most blessedly awful hangover known to man, Crowley admitted that Aziraphale wasn't going to call him and ask about it. He mournfully contemplated the empty bottles (which obligingly refilled themselves), but decided that was probably a terrible idea.

Two days later, he and Aziraphale met at the Ritz, the same way they had every week for six years. Aziraphale greeted him warmly and proceeded to talk about a first edition of _Children's and Household Tales_ that was coming up for auction later in the month. Crowley tentatively responded to each point his counterpart brought up, but Aziraphale didn't mention his uncharacteristic hesitance.

The topic of the Grimm brothers lasted through a plate of smoked salmon sandwiches, two trays of scones, and three glasses of champagne apiece while Crowley waited for the other conversational shoe to drop. A third tray of scones with clotted cream later, and the pair gathered themselves to leave.

"Would you care to take a turn through St James'?" asked Aziraphale as he straightened his jacket over a tartan vest.

Crowley, who had had enough of slinking his way over eggshells for the day, thank you very much, demurred with "I don't think so, angel. Not today."

"Ah, well," Aziraphale looked slightly disappointed at that, but not enough for Crowley to change his mind. "Perhaps another day."

"Perhaps so," Crowley echoed. They were outside the Ritz on the pavement by now and Crowley was about to set off in the opposite direction from Aziraphale in order to make his way back to his Mayfair flat. "I'll see you later, angel."

"Of course. I love you, my dear," Aziraphale said in parting as he turned away towards the bookshop.

Crowley missed a step or three, but by the time he had turned back, Aziraphale was a block away, strolling blithely back to his bookshop. Crowley stared after him for a good minute and a half, long enough for Aziraphale to disappear around a corner and then some, before turning towards Mayfair again and slowly walking away.

If Crowley had a distinct bounce to his step the rest of the way home, no one mentioned it.


End file.
